Zombie

I put the cocked gun to my head

Finger twitches on the trigger
But
Put it back under my pillow
Forget about it

I put the blade against my wrist
But only lightly graze the skin
There's only a little trickle of blood
And I'm left to wonder why

I stand on the edge way up in the sky
And clouds whirl by around me
And for some reason, I turn away
To go to Starbucks and get a cup of coffee

But in my mind's eye
THE BULLET CRASHED THROUGH
THE BLOOD GUSHED OUT
I TUMBLED OVER INTO THE SKY

And my body's left
To wonder why
I put the gun down
I put back the razor
I stepped back from the edge

Just somehow...never did it.

Author's Note

Just an interesting fact, this poem has won a contest on Writers Cafe :)

Reviews

[Legion]

"To be or not to be...." holds more depth when you look at it that way. Interesting view of what one does in their battle to live or not.